


Let the Words Go

by OrdinaryRealities



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Gen, Otabek Altin is socially awkward, Post-Canon, Viktuuri have a child, retirement fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:33:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27739987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrdinaryRealities/pseuds/OrdinaryRealities
Summary: Otabek just wanted to complain about hotel prices. He's still not sure how he ended up here or what to do with the small child who keeps watching him. (It turns out that Viktor's definition of found family is less "we've been friends and now we're family" and more "I found you and now you're family".)
Relationships: Otabek Altin & Katsuki Yuuri, Otabek Altin & Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11
Collections: The Yuri!!! on Ice Secret Santa - Edition 2020





	Let the Words Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caramel-draws](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=caramel-draws).



> This is for caramel-draws on tumblr, who requested something about Viktuuri and Otabek and Viktor's pink hair. I hope this is something like what you were looking for!
> 
> Anything problematic in this fic comes from a place of ignorance, not malice. I did my best, but I'm always still learning, so if anyone sees anything they're willing to educate me about, I appreciate it. 
> 
> Beta'ed as always by the incomperable haircutnamedarthur.
> 
> Title comes from "In the depth of a mirror mottled with stains" by Aigerim Tazhi, translated by J. Kates.

Otabek kept his eyes closed. Even so, no sooner did he hear Katsuki whisper “now we have to be very quiet while our guest is sleeping,” than the thundering of what sounded like a herd of tiny elephants but must only be the smallest Katsuki-Nikiforov approached the sofa rapidly. It halted directly in front of Otabek’s face. Otabek resisted the urge to open his eyes and see what she was doing. 

It was all Yura’s fault anyway. Otabek hadn’t even been complaining, really. Just talking about the price of the hotel room he was planning to get for the few nights the ice show would be in St Petersburg. Yura was back in Moscow, so it wasn’t like Otabek had expected Yura to have a solution. 

Otabek certainly hadn’t asked the other skater to go quiet for a couple of minutes and then report, “Katsudon and the old man say you can stay with them and the Princess.” 

Had Yura suggested it out loud first, Otabek would have thanked him and told him not to ask them. He barely knew the Katsuki-Nikiforovs. Certainly not well enough to stay with them. He paid for hotel rooms all the time. It was a pain, but it kept him out of awkward social situations.

Turning down a place on the Katsuki-Nikiforov couch would be a much more awkward social situation than Otabek was interested in. 

It wasn’t until Otabek got to the airport, jetlagged and crabby, and discovered Viktor Nikiforov waiting for him that he began to realize exactly how attached the ex-champion already was. Viktor Nikiforov had bustled Otabek to his car, chattering away about Yura ( _Yurio_ ) and the Katsuki-Nikiforov daughter.

(Otabek had always assumed it was only Yura who called her Princess, in some sort of unnecessarily gendered retaliation for the unwanted nickname all three Katsuki-Nikiforovs used for him. He hadn’t realized that everyone called her Princess.)

They were nearly to the apartment when Viktor Nikiforov let the bombshell drop. “And of course, you’re an honorary Katsuki-Nikiforov yourself.”

Otabek side-eyed him. “You barely know me.”

Viktor Nikiforov kept taking his eyes off the road to make eye contact with Otabek the way they all learned to for the press. “But you’re Yurio’s friend! Any friend of Yurio is a friend of ours.”

Rather than address that, Otabek had settled for, “Yura doesn’t like being called Yurio.”

“I know,” Viktor Nikiforov beamed at him. “It’s good for his blood pressure.”

Otabek had turned to look out the windshield (setting a good example) rather than waste his breath. Yura was far more persuasive (well, more vocal anyway) than Otabek, so it wasn’t like Otabek would change their minds.

Now, this morning, Otabek kept his eyes closed until Katsuki and their daughter left. He wasn’t sure what to do with the adult Katsuki-Nikiforovs. He certainly didn’t know how to react to the smallest one. 

Once they were gone, Otabek gave up pretending to be asleep. The ice show wouldn’t begin until tomorrow, but he couldn’t lie on their couch all day. Katsuki had allowed their daughter to tiptoe back towards Otabek before they left and slide a rustling paper onto the table in front of the couch. 

_Coffee is on, and there’s food in the fridge. Help yourself to anything you want. Vitya will be back at nine._ The Russian letters were square and careful, though Katsuki had been living in Russia for close to ten years now. 

Otabek had stretched, more comfortable now that he knew the whole family was out, and wandered into the kitchen.

It was immediately apparent when Viktor Nikiforov came home. Otabek was scrolling on his phone when the door swung open and toenails clicked in on the tile. The dog panted. (Otabek knew her name. She was named something silly. Mocha? Matcha?) Then the sound of keys being dropped on the counter and Viktor Nikiforov’s soft huff. 

“Come back here, silly girl, and let me get this off. There you are. Let’s go see if Otabek needs anything, shall we?” 

Otabek had just enough time to brace himself before they swept into the room together. He concentrated on the dog. She came up, tail wagging, and Otabek reached out and buried both hands in her scruff. She leaned the top of her head against his leg and allowed him to scrub the loose skin at the back of her neck back and forth gently. A happy dog was simple.

“Good morning, Otabek!” 

Viktor Nikiforov was far too chipper in the mornings. 

Otabek glanced up and then stopped, transfixed. “I… Did you- Your hair.”

Viktor Nikiforov reached a hand up self-consciously and touched the back of his head. “I thought I would surprise Yuuri. Do you think that he’ll like it?” 

Otabek watched, nonplussed, as Viktor Nikiforov twirled himself in a circle. His hair was very pink. 

“He will, right?”

Otabek wasn’t sure why his opinion was being solicited. “You’re his husband. I barely know him.”

“They said it would take six-to-eight washings to wash it out. What if it doesn’t come out that fast? What if Yuuri hates it?”

Otabek wished that he could text Yura for advice without it being obvious what he was doing. (Or just text him a picture. Yura would appreciate it.)

“He’s been married to you this long.” A long-forgotten comment from Yura bubbled up and out his mouth. “If it wasn’t obvious to him that you’re impulsive when you traveled to another country over a youtube video and a pole dance, he’s had plenty of time to learn better.” That sounded judgmental. Otabek thought it was kind of sweet. “I mean… I’m sure he’ll like it.” Probably.

“You’re right,” Viktor Nikiforov flashed Otabek a blinding press smile, obvious after dinner the night before. (His real smile was so open and _friendly_ for a man who’d ruthlessly collected every medal on the circuit for himself for so long.) “Of course he’ll like it. My Yuuri has impeccable taste.”

Otabek nodded gravely. It hadn’t even been an hour since Katsuki had left. He wondered how many errands the other man was running. 

“Of course, even if he doesn’t like it, it will wash out soon enough.” 

Otabek nodded again and wondered if Yura could talk Viktor Nikiforov down. He could try calling. 

“You don’t think it’s too much though?” Viktor Nikiforov was looking at Otabek like Otabek knew anything at all about Katsuki beyond listening to Yura complain about him when they were younger. 

Otabek tried not to sigh. “I wouldn’t think so?” It was going to be a long afternoon.

It was both better and worse when Princess returned. Better because at least Viktor Nikiforov wasn’t about to put his relationship worries on a small child. Worse because every time that Viktor Nikiforov _did_ let his worries slip, the smallest of the Katsuki-Nikiforovs glanced at Otabek, ready to share a commiserating look. 

Otabek didn’t know how to socialize with small children.

Princess Katsuki-Nikiforov gave him a pitying look. 

Otabek began to wonder if she could read his mind.

Viktor Nikiforov flipped his pink hair and let it fall into his face. Otabek wished he knew how to make this better. Princess Katsuki-Nikiforov (was that really her name?) looked gently amused. 

The sound of the door opening was a relief. 

“Honey? I’m home!”

If someone had asked Otabek last week which one of his former competitors was most likely to announce themselves that way, he would have picked Chulanont without hesitation. Apparently he would have been wrong. Otabek held in his sigh. 

Viktor Nikiforov lit up under that shocking pink hair. 

It wasn’t that Otabek didn’t like it, or that he didn’t think it suited the other skater. It was just that Viktor Nikiforov was nearly forty and surely, Yura or the press or both would have informed Otabek if Viktor Nikiforov were in the habit of dying his hair and… Otabek just hadn’t expected it. Continued to not expect it, every time that he looked away and then looked back. 

Viktor Nikiforov straightened his shoulders as his husband entered. 

Katsuki looked delighted. 

Otabek winced. 

(Again, it wasn’t that Otabek had a problem. Just that he felt embarrassed, like he shouldn’t be here. As they got older Yura had learned to speak to the press and to his fellow competitors. Otabek was still as stilted and awkward as ever. The Katsuki-Nikiforovs looking at one another like they had lit the sun only made it worse.)

The smallest Katsuki-Nikiforov took Otabek’s hand and led him down the hall. (This was what Otabek meant. How had he allowed this child to abduct him? It all came down to the panic inherent in social situations, he was sure.) She opened a door and led him into a cotton candy-colored bedroom. Otabek stopped in the doorway. Princess Katsuki-Nikiforov turned and assessed him coolly. 

“Yurio was like you too at first.”

Otabek panicked. “He prefers Yura.” (That was definitely not the response he should be making to a small child.)

The smallest Katsuki-Nikiforov shrugged, then climbed onto her bed and turned to face him expectantly. 

Otabek forced himself to wait and not demand that she tell him what she expected of him. Surely she would let him know?

Princess Katsuki-Nikiforov sighed dramatically and then stared him down. “Tell me about your favorite routine.”

Otabek felt his shoulders relax. “Mine, or someone else’s?”

“Either.”

It wasn’t until he was nearly done that Otabek realized how deliberately she had set him at ease. “Do you like figure skating?” It was a little embarrassing.

The smallest Katsuki-Nikiforov considered this for a long minute before awarding him one of Viktor Nikiforov’s happy smiles. “No! I’m going to be a horseback rider!”

Otabek blinked. There had to be a way to turn her question back on her… “Tell me about… your favorite… horseback riding routine?”

The friendliest Katsuki-Nikiforov giggled and shook her head. “It’s not a routine – well, unless it’s dressage, but that’s no fun to watch – it’s a jump course!” 

The next morning, when Otabek heard the pitter-patter of his new friend’s tiny feet, he opened his eyes and winked as she slid Yuuri’s note onto the coffee table in front of him. She blinked, giggled, raised a finger to her lips in return, and skipped back to where Katsuki stood in the kitchen.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> if you liked it, feel free to follow my on tumblr at writingordinaryrealities or on twitter @naryreal2. (And if anyone has ideas for what I should be posting on my twitter... I got it for an event, but I'm really not a twitter person. What do people use twitter for?)


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